Poetry is dishonesty
but i had to be half asleep
i am a voice
a trembling
words are dropped
laid on the surface
of endless water
so shallow, but the water is
never still
a trembling, cut
pieced hastily weaved
desperately (is it really all we have?)
laid out on, i dropped it
on
the unwritten body, and i
wait, looking
away, for
the foreign signs to grow
on to strangers
how dare i desire honesty
when i had to be half asleep
but my trembling was
alone.
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